Ginger Baker: born under a bad sign

As Ginger explains in the introduction, the story of his autobiography ‘Hellraiser’, is just as fraught as the life it describes. For years now, he has been approached by procession of would-be biographers who then proceed to write utter drivel and are quickly fired – including one who cost Ginger a shed load of cash when Ginger blocked the book and was sued by the publisher. What he fails to mention are my attempts to let me tell the tale. Ginger always politely declined my offers, saying that he was determined to do it himself. In my last contact with Ginger on the matter, he must have been in a low mood because he said the whole story was so grim and awful, he couldn’t bear even to think about it, much less have it written down. But here we are, and true to his word, it is his story told by him albeit with the assistance of probably the only person he could trust to write exactly what he wanted – his daughter Nettie. So what’s the verdict?

Well, judging by the hair-raising tales told within, Ginger Baker should be stone dead – the drugs, the booze, the fights, the car wrecks, the accidents – something should have finished him off. But no, hard as nails, uncompromising, unyielding and grumpy as ever, Ginger, now 70 years old, has bounced back from it all.

Inspired by his heroes, Baby Dodds, Max Roach and Britain’s own Phil Seaman, Ginger first came to attention in the sixties as half of rock’s greatest ever rhythm section with bassist Jack Bruce. (By the way, call Ginger a rock drummer to his face and you are likely to need two drumsticks surgically removed). Both Ginger and Jack came out of jazz and brought that improvisational freedom to Alexis Korner’s Blues Incorporated, the Graham Bond Organisation and most famously in Cream. Of all the drummers of that era, Ginger with his red hair and skeletal features, battering out triplets and ruffs behind what was then a monster kit of two bass drums and a forest of cymbals, was the only one to play percussive melodies. He told stories on the drums in the true African tradition he so loves and admires. 

Both Ginger and Jack played with a volcanic intensity that exploded into the now legendary animosity between them, although it didn’t stop Jack bringing Ginger back into the spotlight in later years and of course in 2005, they took the stage as Cream once again. There is some fascinating unreleased footage of Ginger being interviewed for a Cream DVD in between the first and second nights of the Cream Reunion at Madison Square Gardens. Once the interview is done, Ginger declares that Jack is playing way too loud and how he isn’t going back on, until he is reminded of the huge pile of cash that awaits him. In the book, Ginger gives his side of their fiery relationship: for Jack’s you’ll have to wait for my authorised biography published in February.

Once Cream split up, Ginger stayed with Eric Clapton in Blind Faith and then formed his short-lived big band, Airforce. But I think it is fair to say that he pretty much lost interest in being a professional musician after that. The last forty years of his life from 1971, only takes up about a third of the book and most of that centres on his abiding passions, polo and Africa. Some of his later forays into the music business were frankly bizarre like Hawkwind and Public Image Ltd, nor did his own bands progress much beyond a handful of gigs. He acknowledges that the motivation for most of his post-Airforce outings was financial and only has (justifiable) enthusiasm for the three jazz albums he recorded in the 90s, ‘Going Back Home’ (1994) and ‘Falling Off The Roof’ (1996) with Bill Frisell and Charlie Haden, and ‘Coward of the Country’ (1999) which Ginger declared ‘the best record I ever did.’

If you were looking for a root cause of Ginger’s short fuse, it is probably his decades in the grip of heroin addiction. Its genesis lay in the twilight world of the modern jazz scene of early sixties London and he came off the drug many times, yet there is no real explanation of why Ginger carried on for so long given his otherwise incredible resilience. He certainly used it as an emotional crutch when times were bad, but you get a sense of somebody who doesn’t like himself that much – which would at least explain why he seemed to have a hard job liking anybody else and managed to hurt those closest to him.

But the anecdotes of mayhem and chaos, sex and drugs, come thick and fast and make for an entertaining read. Ginger can truly say he has lived life to its brim, warts and all. Oh, and the book jacket – fabulous - taken from the cover of the BBM (Bruce, Baker, Gary Moore) album ‘Around the Next Dream’ – and my favourite album sleeve ever. Ginger Baker with Matrix-style greatcoat, fag in mouth and angel’s wings leaves you treading waist high in paradox. Could he be Fallen? But where from - Heaven? I don’t think so.

Ginger Baker: Hellraiser - the autobiography of the world’s greatest drummer is published by John Blake.